


Driving in your car, I never want to go home.

by ForReasonsUnknown (orphan_account)



Series: Of Spitfires & Love Songs. [12]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Film, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-WW2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 17:25:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13575405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ForReasonsUnknown
Summary: "I need to feel alive." Collins says after a long pause, the words hanging loud and poignant between them in the cool air, Farrier's expression unreadable, but the strength of his grip on Collins' shoulder a clear enough indication. The brunette kisses him again, hands in Collins' hair.





	Driving in your car, I never want to go home.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a while, I apologise! I've had exams and life has been chaotic but I'm back on track now!  
> I hope you enjoy! x  
> kudos and comments are much appreciated. 
> 
> (Based on There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths)

_Take me out tonight,_  
_Because I want to see people and I want to see life,_  
_Driving in your car,_  
_Oh, please don't drop me home._

The pavement beneath Collins' feet is damp and cold, a brisk breeze causing him to shudder where he stands in the shadow of the shop his flat sits above, sounds of the city muffled by distance. He stands in the shadows deliberately, obscured from view by the surrounding darkness; a veil of safety from the resident prying eyes. A curtain flutters on one of the houses opposite him and he reflexively presses himself back against the cold damp wall. He's not been seen and as the light in the house switches off - leaving the street in darkness apart from the lone streetlight along to his right - he knows he won't be. 

Insufferably nosy and suspicious though his neighbours may be, it's far too late for them now. 

He hears the car before he sees it, cast in the bright lights of its headlamps, instinctively pressing himself back against the wall further. Feeling somewhat embarrassed upon recognising the number plate as being Farrier's. The car slows to a smooth stop, and Farrier's out of it almost immediately. The limp in his step is barely noticeable as he rounds the car to lean against it with an insufferable smirk, smelling of smoke and the city as Collins throws his arms about his neck, holding him close for a long few moments. It's an unwise thing to do, what with the noise of the car likely disturbing anyone still awake, and their figures easily discernible in the darkness thanks to the headlights.

Collins doesn't particularly care, and the hands on the small of his back suggest the same. 

Farrier's eyes are shining when they part, and Collins' chest aches, taking one last look at the dark building behind him before climbing into the car, Farrier holding the door open and closing it behind him, ever the gentleman. He slides back into his seat with the same grace as the car had stopped with, and Collins takes a moment to look him over. He's dressed in one of his turtlenecks, leather jacket thrown on over the top. His style has barely changed, only now he's driving cars instead of flying planes. But Collins is still by his side, where he belongs.

Farrier sees him looking and offers a wink that makes his cheeks flush. 

The car starts and drives the short distance around to an abandoned carpark, several great craters still littering the place, even now. London was still heavily marred by the war, whether it be craters and rubble littering the sprawling streets, orphanages overflowing with evacuated children returning to empty homes or entire buildings missing from their uniform rows like lost teeth.

Collins wonders for a moment if the damage done by the war will ever be undone. 

Farrier kisses him there as he always does, secluded in the darkness, one of his hands ghosting over the glassy skin on his jaw and throat. The war had left its mark on him, too, a great burn scar stretching up from his chest and side of his throat, tendrils of glassy skin reaching up under his jaw. It'd left its mark on Farrier too, in the scars on his back and the limp in his step; in the way his fingers didn't quite move the way they used to.

The marks weren't just physical; Collins still woke up screaming more often than not, lungs filled with sea water. 

"Take me away." Collins murmurs as they part, keeping Farrier close to him, sharing breath. Concern flits momentarily through Farrier's expression, before being replaced by a warmth, a longing. Collins kisses him again, long and slow, if only to keep himself grounded, stop himself from leaving this place he has fought so hard to reach.

"Where?" Farrier replies, voice low and secretive, as though they're still in the RAF and the war is still raging, stealing rushed moments of intimacy in dark corners, communicating through expressions and hushed words, learning each other's bodies in the darkness. In a way they still are. The war may be over and they may be civilians now, but their relationship is no less forbidden, no less taboo. It doesn't matter that Farrier sacrificed himself for king and country at Dunkirk. That he suffered through years in those camps and never said a thing. That Collins survived the war against great odds, came out of it a hero, a decorated veteran. That he nearly got himself killed and spent months in the infirmary by the time it began to come to a close.

Because this, pressed against each other in Farrier's car, the sounds of the city far off and distant, Collins' chest aching with both sorrow and desire, is abomination. 

But he doesn't care, he doesn't care. 

If this is abomination, then he shall live his life as a sinner.

"I need to feel alive." Collins says after a long pause, the words hanging loud and poignant between them in the cool air, Farrier's expression unreadable, but the strength of his grip on Collins' shoulder a clear enough indication. The brunette kisses him again, hands in Collins' hair. Collins sighs into it, body relaxing, the taste of smoke on his tongue as they part. 

"You should smoke less." Collins comments as Farrier forces the car into gear, restarting the engine. The brunette snorts, rolling his eyes and pulling back out onto the road, Collins' hand soon moving to rest upon Farrier's where it clutches the gearstick. 

An easy silence falls between them as they get closer and closer to the city, streetlights becoming brighter and more frequent, streets becoming busier and busier, filled with bright eyed youth, seemingly still celebrating victory. They pass a particularly lively club, a line of people out the door stretching down nearly half a mile. Collins' eyes catch on the people, so alive and free, chattering and laughing as though this night will never end.

Maybe for them it won't, trapped in their youth, lives paid for by wealthy doting parents, barely having seen the destruction of the war.

There's far less evidence of the war here too, and any that exists is obscured by scaffolding and netting, a sign of progress and recovery not seen in the parts of the city Collins often finds himself in. The people are rehabilitated, the ghosts of those they’d lost not seeming to haunt them as they did everyone else.

Collins wonders whether it’s just the alcohol and the money, the bright lights and music lulling the people into thinking they’re happy, into forgetting.

It’s more difficult than he feels it should be to envy them in their naivety.

It's Farrier's kind of place, his expensive car sliding right into place amongst the bright lights and extravagance. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes drifting closed for a moment, blocking it out. 

He can't wait until they can leave this wretched place together. Find somewhere quiet and secluded. But still alive, still as vibrant and undying as the city, but without the smoke and fear. Without so many prying eyes. 

Without so many people drowning in their pasts, while the rest decide to forget that theirs had ever actually existed.

Farrier is looking at him when he opens his eyes again, concerned but understanding, hand warm beneath his. They turn a corner, and Farrier tenses as a police car passes them, chest suddenly tight; a reflex leant from years of hiding away. Collins hardly even notices, far too fixated on how the city lights reflect off Farrier’s skin, how aged he looks in the gloom. He suddenly finds that he can't breathe. 

Collins pays little attention to where they go, looking out the window again, somewhat envious of the revellers out on their night off. They're the generation who missed the war only by a few years, witnessing the horrors of the Blitz first hand, but never seeing the battlefield. Never killing in the name of the new world, never watching friends die and being helpless to do anything, never spending years alone in forced solitude enough to seduce the sanest of men into madness.

An hour passes and Collins has fallen into a wistful haze, eyes far away and distant, not noticing Farrier's eyes on him, not caring where he's being taken. Just happy that he's here, with Farrier. Nothing else matters. He doesn't care. There’s no point.

Collins realises he could die, there and then, with his only regret being that it didn't last a bit longer. That he hadn't quite made up for the years they'd spent apart yet. Dying by Farrier's side had always been the way he'd envisioned himself going down. Before, it had been in the flames of glory and war, their spits igniting and spiralling out the sky together. Now, it's being beaten in some back alley because someone had seen something they weren't meant to. On days where he's more hopeful and filled with optimism, it's being older and grey, having shared a life together, sliding silently from one world to the next. 

It becomes apparent that he doesn't care. So long as Farrier is by his side. 

He comes back to himself gradually, in time with their gradual transition out of the bright lights of the city, into the gloom residential quarters. Where the revellers are replaced with the destitute and desperate. And the streets are lined with craters and destruction, windows boarded up with rotten wood and darkness seeping in to replace the light and life of the city. A sudden panic sets in and he finds himself gripping Farrier's hand tightly, the latter looking away from the dark road to meet his eyes, concern etched into his expression.

"Don't take me back there," Collins begs, desperation overriding any embarrassment he might have felt for being so pathetic, so helpless. They've only got another month in London, living apart to avoid suspicion, Farrier waiting on his inheritance to carry them somewhere far away. But he can't face it tonight, the oppressive loneliness of his flat, the deafening silence that attacks him as soon as he pushes the door open. The torture of knowing how close Farrier is, but not being able to be near him for fear of discovery. Sleeping alone every night in a cold bed, dreaming of Farrier warm and pressed against him, arms tight about his waist, softly snoring into his ear. “Please, not yet.”

There is a danger to going to Farrier’s. He’s watched by his neighbours mercilessly, all of them knowing that his flat only has one bedroom. And while the walls are thick, they’ve seen Collins leaving his flat of a morning, cheeks pink in the daylight, hair dishevelled and entire figure the picture of debauchery. But Collins will face the risks, if only for one night of peace before returning back to his solitude. They’ve only one more month to wait and in his eagerness, he’s become desperate and reckless.

Farrier looks back out at the road again. They're approaching the turn necessary to carry them either to Collins' flat, or Farrier's. Collins’ chest constricts again, his limbs going numb as he sends up a silent prayer to the deity that has abandoned them. To just please, let me have this. Just this once. Farrier doesn't say a word as he slows almost entirely stopping, deciding at the last minute to pull them harshly to the right; the direction of Farrier's flat, away from Collins’.

Collins nearly chokes on his breath as he exhales, eyes on Farrier again, who is still focused on the road ahead, traffic building back up as they approach the more respectable end of the residential sector. Collins doesn’t dare utter a single word, not trusting his voice not to fail. Not entirely sure what to say. Instead he looks out at the road ahead, at the large buildings and flash cars. At Farrier, who though somewhat worried, is less tense, the beginnings of a relaxed smile on his face. Breathing becomes a bit easier after that.

"Thank you." Collins says as they pull into the carpark behind Farrier's home, the engine dying a moment later. It's an echo of the beginning of their evening, the pair of them sitting in silence in the darkness and seclusion of the abandoned carpark. There are no craters here, though, Collins remarks. 

Farrier pulls him into a kiss that he hadn't been expecting, hard and strong, filled with all the words the man cannot say out loud, even in their relative safety. It makes his lungs burn and his head spin, whole body itching to just be closer, to close any distance between them and never be parted again. Instead he settles for fisting his hands in Farrier’s jacket, skin stretched tightly over his knuckles. They part, foreheads rested together, catching their breaths. Farrier presses a kiss to his forehead, staying there for a long moment, eyes clamped shut and lips lightly brushing Collins' heated skin. 

"It won't be long," he murmurs, prompting Collins to lift his head, their eyes meeting. There's a similar desperation in his expression, a similar longing; a warmth and care that is difficult to process. "I promise you. I will find us a better life, away from this place." Farrier kisses him again, short but sweet, tasting of hope and optimism, of what the future could hold for them. 

Collins looks at him and knows he could die happily by his side at any given moment.

And that the only life he can live is one with Farrier in it, with him until the very end. 

_It's worth waiting for._


End file.
